


If This is Happiness

by rainbow_nerds



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovery, Top Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_nerds/pseuds/rainbow_nerds
Summary: By his third year of freedom, he finally felt settled. He had a routine, had his plants to take care of, had something resembling a family.But there was still something deep inside, buried with the memories of what he had done all those years he was imprisoned, which told him he was still, fundamentally, undeserving of it all.And then.Andthen.Along came Steve Rogers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 30
Kudos: 166





	If This is Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired (and titled) by [Happiness by McFly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOH9dfcGMxY) which is just such a delightful song, I highly recommend giving it a listen while you read, because it was playing on repeat while I was writing.

The winter soldier was a lot of things.

Highly skilled, ruthless, terrifying.

It was only in the past couple of years that he had begun to realise  _ human _ could potentially be counted among those things which described him.

The realisation had shocked him to his core, and within a year it drove him to finally escape from Hydra and begin finding something which resembles a lifex. A job. A home. A name.

_ Bucky Barnes _ was a lot of things. 

Lost, on edge, alone.

While he had come around to recognising himself as a human rather than a weapon, he still didn't know if he should really be able to see himself as  _ deserving _ — of friends, of family, of anything which might resemble happiness. 

Then he had met Natasha, who had been sent to tail him by whatever shady organisation she worked for, and who had actually managed to overpower him when he spotted her and drew the knife he still carried on his person. That had earned his respect. 

When she had holstered her own weapon, forgoing her assignment to allow him to walk free, recognising his humanity in a way that nobody else who knew his history had done before, that had been what had earned his tentative friendship. 

But still,  _ deserving  _ was a difficult concept. He held happiness at an arm's distance, not wanting to subject anyone else to… all of him.

If his first year of freedom was one of survival, his second was one of discovery.

Discovering he could not just be human, but could have people he cared for. People who cared for  _ him _ .

With Natasha came Clint, and then with Clint the odd band of teenagers who always seemed to band around him.

He discovered that food could be enjoyed, rather than just a means to an end of not passing out from hunger. Clint introduced him to pizza, and he discovered that was good. He discovered cake, and that was even better.

He discovered he could not only look after himself, but also other living things when Natasha had shown up at his apartment with a potted plant and no explanation, and before long his home was brimming with life which he tended to meticulously.

By his third year of freedom, he finally felt settled. He had a routine, had his plants to take care of, had something resembling a family.

But there was still something deep inside, buried with the memories of what he had done all those years he was imprisoned, which told him he was still, fundamentally,  _ undeserving  _ of it all _. _

And then.

And  _ then. _

Along came Steve Rogers.

Where Natasha and Clint had fallen into his life by chance and stayed by choice, Steve forced himself in.

Bucky had been minding his own business, working on reattaching a fuel line when someone had walked into the garage where he earned his meagre living, clearing his throat to get his attention. Bucky had turned to look, and everything went still.

He was small, blonde, and absolutely fucking gorgeous. 

Bucky knew he couldn't have love, couldn't even have sex without having to explain the myriad of scars on his back, not to mention the fucking metal arm — that whole conversation never failed to be a mood killer — but he could still appreciate an attractive man when he saw one.

And from the way Steve's cheeks pinked at the sight of Bucky, sweat-and-grease-stained shirt aside, Bucky had a feeling the attraction was mutual. 

He helped Steve out, fixed up his bike — a fucking Harley, as though this man had been designed to get Bucky worked up — and that should have been it. But, as it turned out, Steve was a stubborn little shit.

He turned up again a week later for no reason other than to ask Bucky out, and he had almost accepted, before remembering all the reasons that was a terrible idea. To his surprise, Steve didn’t seem to take it too hard, just shrugged self-deprecatingly and held out a hand.

"Ah well, I had to ask.” Bucky had a sudden urge to punch every person who had led to Steve being so resigned to rejection, but instead he reached out and shook his hand, ignoring the flutter he felt at the contact. “Friends, then?" Steve had asked, and Bucky really had no reason or inclination to say no. 

So Steve continued to drop by, day by day. Sometimes he brought coffee, sometimes lunch, sometimes he just sat and watched Bucky work, which always made Bucky feel a thrill down his spine. Gradually, Steve got to know Bucky's other friends, though Bucky never figured out how they had managed to manufacture a meeting. 

Nonetheless, within a matter of months, Steve had firmly solidified himself as part of Bucky's life. The longer they spent together, though, the more Bucky began to realise things with Steve were different than they were with Natasha or Clint or the kids. By the time he managed to identify the feeling in his chest, it was too late to turn back.

He had to tell Steve, before it was too late. Before he did something he regretted, like make a move, ask Steve out in return or press him up against the wall in a fit of passion. 

It was late afternoon, Steve had brought lunch, and Bucky was quiet while they ate.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked, and he swallowed. This was it.

"I need to tell you something," he confessed, and Steve's face turned serious.

"Is it about your arm?" It took Bucky off guard, but Steve shrugged.

"I don't think you realise, but when you're really focused on your work, you roll your sleeves up." Bucky felt himself turn red, he couldn't believe he had been so careless. Steve just reached out and rested his hand on Bucky's arm. 

His  _ left _ arm.

"You don't need to tell me. Not if you don't want to. But if you do want to, I'll listen, and it won't change how I feel about you."

"How you feel?" Steve's face had been all the answer needed, and Bucky's heart broke.

"It will. It'll change everything, but I need to tell you." Steve didn't argue with him, which he was grateful for.

He told Steve everything, and Steve listened. Bucky couldn't look at him. Eventually, he finished, and Steve reached out again, taking hold of his chin and making him look up. Steve's eyes were bright with tears, and before Bucky knew what was happening he was being pulled into a surprisingly strong hug. He froze for a moment, before hugging back.

"Buck. I thought you were amazing before," Steve said, and and Bucky braced for the  _ but. _ The inevitable rejection. "But, god, I had no idea how amazing you were." Bucky frowned. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Steve was supposed to be repulsed, terrified, to recognise that deep down Bucky wasn't  _ deserving.  _ But Steve just looked at him, openly and fondly.

"I can't believe you survived all of that," he said, "and still manage to be the kind, loving, beautiful man you are. Bucky, I—" Steve floundered for words for a moment, and Bucky's breath caught.

"Buck, can I kiss you? Please?" Bucky nodded, and Steve leaned in, a tentative brush of lips which Bucky didn't quite know how to respond to. His body took over though, and he found himself pressing back, kissing Steve back and it was like the floodgates had opened. Steve kissed like he did everything else: openly, fiercely, brightly and unapologetically.

And Bucky loved it.

He wasn't sure if he  _ deserved  _ it, but he wanted it. And Steve wanted it too, so he let himself have it. He let himself open his mouth and let himself lose time in the slide of their tongues, the taste of Steve's mouth on his.

He let himself lock up early, get on the back of Steve's bike, and let Steve bring him home — his own apartment, not Steve's.

He let himself guide Steve to the bathroom and let himself remove his clothes under the heat of Steve's gaze, let Steve follow him into the shower and wash him down before finally letting himself sink to his knees and take Steve into his mouth, let himself enjoy the sounds Steve made echoing against the shower tiles. He let Steve lead him out into the bedroom, then. Let Steve return the favour, and then once they had a chance to recover, let Steve open him up and gave him over to Steve's fingers, Steve's cock, Steve's everything. 

When he came again, it was with Steve buried deep inside him, with Steve's name on his lips and Steve's face filling his field of vision.

They fell asleep wrapped up together, and when Bucky woke up the next morning, with Steve draped on top of him, hair fluffy from the way it had dried after their shower, mouth slightly open, Bucky felt a sense of rightness. 

The sun was a little brighter. The birds sang a little louder, and it felt like he had jumped inside of a love song.

He kissed Steve's head, and Steve woke slowly, brow furrowing and then face brightening when he remembered where he was.

"Mornin, Buck." Bucky smiled and pushed his hair back.

"I thought I'd go buy some breakfast. You can stay in bed, make yourself at home, okay?" Steve pouted and squeezed him tighter before rolling off of him and letting Bucky get out of bed.

"Fine, but I want pancakes. With syrup." Bucky smiled and leaned back down to kiss him again before turning to pull on some clothes.

He walked out the front door and down to the bodega on the corner, whistling as he went. He picked up the eggs and flour and syrup, and hurried back. He half wished he hadn’t left at all, wanting to stay in bed with Steve all day, but there'd be time for that. 

When he got back in, Steve was up. Sitting at the kitchen island wearing one of Bucky's shirts and nothing else. Bucky put down the bag and swept Steve into his arms, lifting him onto the worktop to kiss him at an even height.

Finally, they broke apart to make the pancakes together — Bucky realising halfway through the process he didn't actually know how to make them, and Steve stepping in to help. They brought their stacks back to the bedroom to eat, and as they sat together, laughing and feeding each other mouthfuls in between lazy kisses, Bucky let himself think.

Maybe Steve, Natasha, Clint were right. Maybe there was something in him he couldn't see, beyond mere  _ humanity. _

Maybe he did deserve this.


End file.
